The Compromise
by Fatal Fandomer
Summary: Alfred F. Jones, the famous - if not slightly unhinged - hitman is given the assignment of killing a certain English assassin. However plans quickly go awry and it seems completing the job may not be what Alfred wants. But with his brother's life on the line and more innocent people being dragged into the messy business a decision needs to be made.
1. The Waltz of Assassins

**So yeah, this kind happened after looking at A LOT of Hitman!America fan art and some ideas I shared with my girlfriend. Actually this chapter probably wouldn't be up if it wasn't for her.**

 **I hope you enjoy, and in advance...I apolgise, I did not mean for all the pain this fanfic may cause.**

 **Actually, no I'm not.**

 **With that done, on with the chapter...**

* * *

"Oh I have all my fingers, the knife goes chop chop chop!"

The man screamed behind the cloth around his mouth, but he was too scared to move his bondaged hand.

"If I miss the spaces in-between then they will all come off!"

The man had tears streaming down his face but he couldn't look away from the large knife that was being jabbed between his stretched fingers.

"And if I hit my fingers the blood will soon come out, but all the same we play this game-"

The man snapped his head up and shuddered at the excitement in the oceanic blue eyes opposite him.

"Cos' that's what it's all about!"

The knife was slammed into the chopping board. Some of his fingers had small cuts that seeped, but otherwise they were still intact. He began to sob quietly.

"Oh wait, the song isn't over yet."

The man felt sick. He shook his head, begged behind the gag as the knife was brought high above his hand and past the grin across is torturer's face.

"Oh chop chop chop chop chop. I'm picking up the speed and if I hit my finger my hand will start to bleed!"

A blood curdling scream engulfed the apartment as the knife was stabbed into the centre of his hand.

"Aw, looks like I'm going to need some more practice. Good thing we have all night."

* * *

The classical music was beginning to become boring as Alfred was swirled around the dance floor. White lights dowsed the dancers that dared to enter the beams but they were quickly engulfed by darkness once more when they glided away somewhere else. Alfred usually felt more comfortable in the spotlight but that was on one of his hits, not in the middle of a dance floor with snotty ladies and gentleman around him.

And none of them were half as snotty as the man leading him in this charade of political engagement though.

This guy was his next hit, assigned to him by a particularly unhinged Frenchman who had contacted him a week ago. Whatever vendetta the Frenchman had Alfred could see why he was so adamant about it. The guy was a total asshole. And English. Not _British_ , but _English_. As if it really mattered. He himself had been confused for a Canadian once, until he forced the guy to sing the American national anthem at gunpoint. Thinking about that memory made Alfred smile.

"You enjoy Strauss II, American?"

Alfred immediately wore a frown. "Who?" The Englishman only chuckled. Alfred's frown became a glare. "Sorry but I don't listen to anything that doesn't have words in it. I'm a lyrical man you might say, gives more meaning." Alfred was all too aware they were the only two men dancing together, and to think the Englishman was so upfront in dragging him onto the dance floor.

"I guess it's only natural that someone like you wouldn't appreciate artful music such as this. Strauss II composed many pieces for political events, this particular one is called _Wiener Blut_ or Vienna Blood. I must admit Austrians know their way around music." He explained on deaf ears; Alfred was preoccupied with not falling over his feet in these continuous turns and sways.

The Englishman smirked, and then suddenly gripped the small of Alfred's back tightly as he leaned him down. His body prickled where a knife was pressed into his shirt. Shit. "I think you'll find words are not needed to portray a meaning. For example physical portrayal breaks the language barrier in many countries." _Shit_. Those emerald eyes were really quite something when a scar of darkness trailed across his cheek. That smirk grew into a sinister grin and Alfred jolted when the hidden knife was slowly glided down his back. "You look more like a brat than a man. Tell me. What is your Hit count?"

Alfred sucked in a breath. The violins screeched in his ears as his heartbeat increased. This really wasn't good and now he couldn't think straight.

"It's, uh, big." _That's the best you could come up with?_

The Englishman looked sceptical. "Oh really? Let's hope its bigger than that gun." The knife made a soft _clink_ when the Englishman tapped it against the protruding bulge beneath Alfred's shirt. His eyes clenched shut and willed himself to think of a way out. This guy knew his stuff. He could easily stab him, get him off the dance floor and out the building without anyone suspecting anything but too much wine. Alfred wished he had done his homework on this Englishman in more detail.

Their eyes remained linked for what felt like an eternity, Alfred waiting for the sharpness of that knife against his back. People clapped as the music ended and men bowed at their partners. The Englishman lifted Alfred up and bowed the same, not so much as a falter in that perfect narcissistic expression of his. Alfred wasn't really sure what to do with himself, he could hear murmuring from other dancers and it felt like all the white lights were targeted on him. The Englishman stood and smiled and tilted his head ever so slightly as he dealt the final blow.

"My name is Arthur Kirkland. I doubt you bothered yourself with searching for it. It was a pleasure to dance with you Alfred F. Jones."

And just like that, he was sauntering away and out of sight.

Alfred yanked a hand through his hair. "What the fuck is with this English dude?"

* * *

 _"I want no mistakes Jones! This monster needs to die and it needs to be done on that exact night." The Frenchman had slammed the files on the table, a fire burning in those bloodshot eyes. He was willing to pay, that was all that really mattered. Alfred leaned back on the chair and kicked his feet onto the pile of paper cuttings and photographs._

 _"It'll be done quickly and professionally, don't even sweat it Frenchy."_

 _"Don't call me Frenchy, I'm-"_

 _Alfred raised a finger, wiggled it, and shot a smile at the infuriated Frenchman. "I have a no name policy. That way whatever work I do it doesn't get linked back to you, or vice versa if you decide to hire others in the future."_

 _"Very heroic of you." Hissed the Frenchman._

 _Alfred shrugged. "I try my best to make everyone happy. I even give some of my Hits a sing along if I like 'em enough."_

 _"You don't get it Jones. This guy..." the Frenchman swayed a little then regained his balance. He should really be laying off the wine for a while, Alfred thought. "Don't underestimate him, he knows where to get into your head. Into everything you care about."_

 _Alfred stared at this boozed up Frenchman. The stubbles along his chin were somehow untidy, his sunken face must have once been quite radiant and smooth back in the day, but now it was aged by despair and alcohol. His words struck Alfred for a moment, he could admit to that, but then his mind wiped clear of nervousness and he smiled even brighter than before. "I'm a professional, I'm ready for anything this British guy throws at me."_

* * *

Alfred locked onto him standing beside a stack of champagne glasses piled in a pyramid. "We need to talk." Arthur sipped his champagne nonchalantly in response. "I get it, you think you're better than me just because you caught me off guard well that's not-"

"I don't think, brat, I _know_ I'm better than you." Arthur looked at him with an almost pitied expression, if not for the vibrancy in his eyes. "Whoever paid you to kill me needs their money back." He swallowed down the rest of the champagne in one gulp. Alfred noted the movement.

"I don't collect the money until the target's dead and buried."

"How noble." Arthur retorted. Was this guy made of sarcasm?

Alfred gritted his teeth. "I need the money. So I need you to be dead, tonight."

Arthur turned to him fully now and his eyes travelled along Alfred's body unsettlingly. He squirmed; no man had ever looked him over like that before. When his inspection was done Arthur placed the empty glass on a layer of the pyramid. Like a viper he swiftly moved forward and grasped Alfred's chin. He pushed him back against a nearby wall and placed a warning finger to his lips. Alfred didn't shout, after all he was armed too and the police weren't high on his favourites list.

"Alfred F. Jones. No known father, mother long dead and a dear younger brother in a coma after he fell into a frozen lake." Alfred's chest tightened. "Oh yes I know all about you. You don't exactly hide your information well do you? I'm guessing the money is to help pay your brother's medical bills judging by your desperation for money and the amount of Hits you've taken on in the last year. I must say for a scrawny brat you've made quite an impression on my world. I've heard many assassins mention you. Some even nickname you Hero Jones. However," Arthur made sure he tilted Alfred's chin just right so he could see the fear spark in his blue eyes. "you haven't impressed me yet. I am a very hard man to please so don't beat yourself up by it too much."

Delicate fingers released his chin and moved to tangle in the hairs above his neck. God, why was he paralysed? All his usual wit was gone, his head empty and blank and all he could focus on were those emerald eyes peeling away at his soul. And then it happened. Hot lips pressed against his hungrily, entangled his tongue, and then pain flashed as teeth bit down. He yelped as sour blood peaked his taste buds. He was breathless by that one kiss, or was it more like an assault?

Arthur chuckled darkly. "As I said, I'm a hard man to please."

Alfred was now concerned whether that had two meanings. Either way, his stomach twisted as the fingers and the man slipped away in silence. The music started up again and it sounded exactly like the other one to Alfred. Still he stood there and listened, picturing Arthur swirling him around the dance floor effortlessly.

"Strauss..." he whispered. _No, you're not getting away that easily._

He ran forward and grabbed Arthur's arm. Swiftly he dodged the hand that flew up, seeing the glint of the knife, and snatched both wrists tightly. The Englishman suddenly looked thoroughly frustrated, Alfred drank in the victory. "My turn to lead, old man." He said boastfully. Arthur's anger lessened as he allowed Alfred this challenge. This was all becoming rather fun to him.

"Old man?"

"Better than gramps."

Arthur squinted his eyes. "If you're trying to impress me you are doing it all wrong."

Alfred slid his hand along Arthur's wrist and took the knife away. Without so much as glancing at the crowd he dropped it behind him and kicked it beneath a table with his foot. His eyes never looked away from Arthur's, not even to blink. "This isn't about impressing you, this is simply settling the score. Impressing you comes later." Alfred concluded to himself more than anything. He led Arthur back onto the less crowded dance floor, it seemed people were starting to make their leave from the event. How late was it now? How long had he been dancing before with Arthur? It hadn't felt long at all.

He started to move to the music having memorised Arthur's lead from earlier. He was definitely aware of eyes being on them now, maybe returning to the dance floor had been a bad idea. "Actually its getting late I should-"

"It doesn't matter what they think." Alfred's heart jumped at the hiss in Arthur's voice, or perhaps it was the dullness in his eyes that made him appear more...human. "If you spend your whole life caring about what strangers think of you, you won't get anywhere."

"Sounds like you stole that line."

Arthur laughed. "In my childhood days I memorised lines from Shakespeare plays. In adulthood I try to make lines that people will _never_ forget. After all in this line of work most of what you say will be the last thing that person hears. Don't you agree?"

Alfred thought for a moment. "Usually I make them sing something." He replied sheepishly.

"Sing what, exactly?"

"Uh, usually the American national anthem."

Arthur didn't look shocked. "Honestly, Americans are so full of themselves."

"And English people aren't?"

"We have _sophistication_."

"A big-nosed complex is what you have." Alfred retaliated, swinging Arthur around sharply.

Arthur squeezed Alfred's hand painfully tight. "Well then, Americans have an ego complex." He shot back as Alfred swallowed down the pain. He hadn't even realised the music had finished again until he saw men bowing to their partners in the corner of his eye. He stepped back from Arthur and bowed the same. Wait. There was a red speck on his shoes. _His_ shoes. His heartbeat quickened as the side of his abdomen suddenly began to pulse. How did he? Alfred looked up and expected a smirk, however Arthur's face was that of a stone. Of something dead. "A small needle can go undetected if it punctures the skin correctly, and as such I have used it as a last resort in similar situations."

Alfred wobbled a little. He tried to put pressure on the little puncture but it stung worse. "What...was in...that?"

"Just a little tranquiliser, nothing that'll kill you because that's not my intention tonight." His legs went limp but strong hands pulled him back up again. His chin rested on Arthur's shoulder as lights and colours just became blurry shapes before his eyes. A reassuring hand dragged through his mangled hair and he could feel his eyes closing. "You maybe a brat and a cocky one at that. But you are certainly not someone I want to kill. I kill people who _need_ to be killed. Whoever hired you is as much of a monster as he makes me out to be."

Then, Alfred blacked out to the sensation of hands holding him close. Safe and warm.


	2. We All Have Scars

**I want to say thank you all so much for the amazing response to this and I'm really glad I posted it :D**

 **I don't think this will be a very long fanfic, but I plan to have connected stories later so actually it'll be longer than I originally planned overall.**

 **With that done, on with the chapter...**

* * *

Groggily, Alfred awoke to a train passing by the window. The whole room shook as the horn blared across the street below. Over the course of the year he had grown used to this loud alarm clock, but the vibrations caused him to feel nauseous as the tranquiliser wore off. The tranquiliser. Alfred groaned and pulled the thin sheet over his head. Last night had been a failure, a laughable one at that if any other hitmen heard about it. What was he thinking? Of _course_ they would hear about it.

The famous Hero Jones brought down to the level of an amateur by a surprisingly suave English assassin.

Alfred couldn't help feeling a knot form in his chest. It _had_ been a surprise when Arthur had swiftly guided him to the dance floor, to kiss him, to say all those things as if they were lovers-

Alfred delve further beneath the sheet. Arthur was his next Hit and yet he was talking about him like a love-struck teenager. He was much older than him for a start, and he was too egotistical and those thick eyebrows were just plain weird and he was the enemy for Christ's sake! He needed that money the Frenchman had offered, badly. He lifted his head enough to read the bedside clock, cursed and stumbled about the apartment in search of the bathroom. He always visited Matthew on Saturdays without a doubt. Wait, it had been Thursday last night...he'd been passed out a whole day? He would have to worry about that another day.

The shower was pleasantly hot against his skin and also stopped him from falling asleep. He stood underneath it for some time, allowing the hot water droplets to run down his body as he thought over his predicament. He knew deep down Arthur was a problem to kill; his skill was unlike any of Alfred's other Hits. It wasn't just weaponry skill either, his whole aura could persuade anyone. Maybe he was trying to chew too much taking on this Hit, but the price on Arthur's head could sustain Matthew's medical bills for over two years. Just enough...just enough time for him to get better. Alfred shuddered when a single cold droplet fell on his chest.

He waved off the landlady with his usual charm and sprinted towards the hospital. He always made a quick detour to the local Italian pizzeria, although why it was called a pizzeria was beyond him as they served any Italian food. Alfred strolled inside and waved down the owner, a young Italian that jumped about when he saw Alfred. Feliciano Vargas almost dropped the plate of pasta on his customers as he excitedly rushed over to Alfred.

"Alfred you came!" Feliciano shouted happily, not even noticing he was balancing many plates on his arms.

"No need to sound so surprised, I'm always here on a Saturday."

"Yes but I always think this Saturday will be the day you don't and I won't be able to make you my special pasta." Feliciano said without a space for breath. Sometimes Alfred wondered where he got all his air from, although he guessed it was the same place as his endless energy. Feliciano quickly went off to deliver the plates to his customers and then disappeared for a short time. Alfred walked over to his table in the corner where he was away from any other customers and silently waited for his pasta. It was by far the best he had ever tasted, and just the thought of it made him increasingly hungry. Suddenly loud shouting in Italian erupted from the kitchen, followed by the sound of a saucepan being thrown. Many customers just carried on chatting amongst themselves, but the newer ones stared worriedly at the kitchen door. Alfred couldn't blame them, but it was natural to become used to the shouting when you became a regular.

A plate was slammed in front of him. "Here. Eat up and leave."

"What happened to serving the customers with a smile?"

"I said eat up and leave, American." Lovino Vargas was the exact opposite of his brother, but his threats Alfred had learnt not to take seriously. Well, until cutlery was involved that is. Looking up at the angry Italian he forgot how much that glare used to make him quiver at the knees, but that had been a long time ago when he wasn't exactly conscious with the world. He guessed Lovino never forgot, hence the cruel treatment whenever he entered the pizzeria. He was tempted to say something about that night but felt like he wanted to keep his manhood attached to his body.

Instead he tried to be diplomatic. "I'm not going to be any trouble, I promise."

"Like hell I'd let you cause trouble anyway. Feli doesn't need your kind around here."

"As you keep telling me."

"Then start fucking listening, stay away from here." Lovino spat, and then sulked off back into the kitchen. Alfred closed his eyes. If only he known that night would cause so many issues now. When he opened them again Feliciano was sat opposite him with his head in his hands, staring with this expectant expression. Confused, Alfred decided to just start eating the pasta and heeding Lovino's command. Still Feliciano looked at him with those big honey eyes that could melt butter. He really reminded Alfred of Matthew sometimes.

"You're in love with someone."

Alfred coughed as he almost choked on the pasta. He swallowed the mouthful painfully before he spoke. "W-what?"

"Something's different about you. You're thinking about someone or you're struggling to masturbate, whichever it looks like you want sex." Feliciano spoke innocently, but Alfred just stared with a face of utter shock. He didn't think he would be confronted with _that_ subject today. Feliciano giggled. "Sorry Alfred but those days are behind me, even for a friend."

"I wasn't asking for you to-" Alfred paused. "You think I'm your friend?"

Feliciano laughed. "Well yes, you've come in here every Saturday for the past ten months. And you always stop long enough for a chat when you really don't need to. So yes you're my friend." He scooted his chair around a bit and stared at Alfred expectantly again. Alfred was really against spilling out his secrets in that department, but something told him Feliciano wouldn't quit.

"Well I did kinda meet someone last Thursday night but-"

"Oh I knew it! I knew there was someone otherwise it'd be really awkward if it was masturbation because I'm pretty rusty now even though Ludwig is always asking if we can do it like I used to back then. He should be finishing soon if he doesn't take on anymore overtime." Feliciano babbled, which Alfred was thankful for as it took the conversation away from Arthur. It had been some years since gay marriage was legalised all over the world, although it felt like this city was behind the times a bit when it came to human rights however, even so it looked like Feliciano was happy here all the same. "Hey Alfred, who was it you met last night then?"

 _Damn it_. "Just some random guy at a party." He answered nonchalantly.

"Was he cute? Did he have abs? Eye colour? Hair colour? Did he seem like an S and M sort of guy?"

"He was just...intelligent."

If Feliciano was disappointed with the answer he didn't show it as he grinned brightly. "Oh Alfred I'm so happy for you! Do you think you'll meet him again?"

He wanted to lie but seeing the happiness over Feliciano's face, even after everything the Italian had been through, he just couldn't do it. Alfred smiled. "I'm positive." The Italian squealed madly. Alfred finished his pasta and reached into his pocket. Damn it, he must have left his wallet at home. He looked apologetically at Feliciano.

"It's on the house Alfred, after all there is no price on love." He said, winking as he went to serve more customers. Alfred shook his head.

He really didn't understand Italians.

* * *

Arthur leaned on the balcony and stared up at the dreary sky. Today's clouds looked solemn and dark, it was bound to rain at some point. He pulled out a wallet and gently pressed it against his lips, he couldn't help but smile as it even smelled like him. Maybe it was wrong of him to steal the wallet when the brat was passed out on his own bed, but it was too delicious to just ignore. He was surprised by the dismal location, but then again the brat was using all his money to help his brother.

Arthur closed his eyes and felt the wind pass over his face. He could still hear his brother's angry voice now, calling him such awful names, that he wished their father had kept him instead of dumping him on his doorstep. Arthur opened his eyes. He had been in contact with this family some years ago, but again he was shunned when his career as an assassin came to light. He couldn't blame them, but part of him longed for that feeling of home. _That feeling the brat had given me when he pulled me back onto that dance floor_. The brat had been exciting, Arthur could admit that. He was fond of making his targets chase after him for the fun of it, but this had been different. Alfred had taken the lead and perhaps it was wrong for Arthur to find that so appealing but he couldn't ignore the pleasure he got kissing those soft lips. He kissed the wallet lightly and then slipped it into his pocket. The brat wanted to kill him, what hope was there for a healthy relationship? Luckily, there was still fun to be had.

Arms curled around his waist and a naked body pressed against his back. "Come back to bed."

"I have important work, love."

"Can't you do it later?" She whined, her dark curls falling over her face. It was rather cute. Arthur imagined Alfred's mangled bed hair, of his arms around his waist and whispering seductively for him to come back to bed. Somehow, he could see himself falling for the brat's request. "It seems like you're still ready for another round." Arthur cursed at the bulge in his crotch. Now was not the time. He would send the girl away with some money when he returned, but right now he needed to get down to the hospital.

After all, a man needs his wallet.

* * *

"Still no change, I'm sorry Mr Jones." The nurse said quietly.

"I expected as much. You don't need to apologise for doing your job."

The nurse seemed appreciative of his words. "Even so, every time you come in to visit I want to give you good news."

"Maybe next week it will be." He said and then smiled as he carried on down the corridor. The nurse had taken on Matthew's care when he had first been admissioned and even Alfred could see the wrinkles beginning to form on her face and how the brightness in her eyes had dulled. A year and this once cheerful nurse was no better than a recent widower. Still she smiled often enough when Alfred came for a visit and for that he was grateful. She was a kind person, just like Matthew. He had stopped by the local tourist shop and bought a little polar bear figurine; polar bears had always been Matthew's favourite animal. When he entered the room he placed the figurine on the beside table and leaned over his younger brother. He was so still and pale, it was as if he had been frozen to the bone. "Hey Matt, the hero's here." He whispered, brushing a few strands of hair away so he could kiss Matthew's forehead.

He wanted Matthew to react, to push him away and tell him to stop being such an idiot and then say something in French that Alfred didn't understand. Instead he was silent, motionless.

Alfred felt tears well in his eyes. "Hey Matt, imagine all those Hits and assassins seeing me crying like a baby."

He never stopped to think what Matthew would say when he woke up to find Alfred a famous hitman. It never really bothered him personally, although his first Hit had been terrifying something about it felt...right. He had always been bad in lessons and his grades never succeeded past Ds, but in sport he was the best of them all. Maybe some people were just meant to take the dirty jobs and it wasn't as if he ever killed innocent people, all his Hits had done something bad. _Matt wouldn't see it like that. He's always seen the good in everyone, even that Cuban guy he used to hang around with that smelt like weed_. Alfred wished Matthew's eyes would just open; he couldn't even remember the colour anymore. A year without Matthew following him around and stopping him from doing something stupid, a year without his brother's mother-like kindness. A year without his brother was hell. "Please wake up Matt. I'll do _anything_ to make it right again."

Matthew's eyes didn't open.

A gentle knock on the door made Alfred wipe his face clean quickly before he turned around to the nurse. She was blushing madly. "It looks like Matthew is more popular today."

Alfred was very confused but then a shadow stepped inside the room. His heart stopped. _No, not you_.

Arthur smiled at the nurse. "Thank you love for escorting me here, I was bound to get lost in this massive building." Her blush worsened and so she scuttled away down the corridor. Arthur turned to Alfred to speak but he was suddenly slammed against the wall with hands clenching his coat. Arthur chuckled. "Giving me a taste of my own medicine, hm? How's your head? I do hope the tranquiliser didn't affect you too much."

Alfred glared. Why was he here, why now? "Get out of here!"

"My, my what a temper. And you were being so polite that night."

"Look, I won't try and kill you and I'll drop the Hit but _please_ leave my brother out of this." Alfred babbled. He didn't know if he was making much sense, all he knew was that he was angry and upset and he was really happy to see Arthur again. Emerald eyes glittered for a moment, but then a tilt of his head and a little smirk reminded Alfred of whom he was dealing with.

"Say please again and I'll think about it." Arthur replied with a tone of innocence.

Alfred inwardly cursed. " _Please_ , leave Matt out of this."

There was a silence as their eyes refused to blink, although Alfred's eyes were more pleading than he had intended. Arthur broke the eye contact and nodded his head. "I had no intention of hurting your brother. I told you, I kill for a reason." Alfred sighed in relief and let Arthur go, he was too...too something anyway to keep his game going. He sat down carefully beside Matthew's arm.

"Why are you here then?" He asked quietly.

He listened to Arthur's dainty footsteps walk towards him and a flash of an object in the corner of his eye. "To return your wallet."

He took it and checked that everything was still inside. "You stole it just so you could give it back to me?"

"Well, how else was I supposed to see you again when it wasn't you trying to kill me?"

Alfred felt a smile tug at his lips. Why was he so happy that Arthur wanted to see him again? "Sounds suspiciously stalker-esque of you."

"Maybe, but it worked did it not?" Arthur wore a boyish grin. Alfred found himself laughing, he hadn't laughed like it in a long time.

"What happened to the sophisticated Englishman?" He challenged.

Arthur took a pause to walk over to a chair opposite and sat down stiffly with a leg hooked over the other. "You cannot expect me to be so sophisticated all the time. After all, even the English dabbled in pirating when it was _all the rage_ during the seventeenth century. Even someone such as me has their limits...and their desires." Alfred shuddered at the way Arthur's voice lowered, or maybe it was just his imagination. It wasn't as if they were enemies now, he already promised he wouldn't kill him and he never went back on his word. _But what about what you promised the French guy? That you would do it quickly and professionally?_ His own mind taunted him, that was a new low. "I must admit I expected more of a psychopath when I first heard about this new hitman. Your antics, the games, it all showed how young you were but now I understand why. You _are_ trying to make this a game, a game you can finish and move on and forget about. I'm afraid it doesn't work that way." Arthur looked genuinely solemn as he glanced between Matthew and Alfred. "So much devotion, enough to kill someone else to keep him alive. I admire that. But sooner or later Matt-"

"It's Matthew. I'm the only one that calls him Matt."

"Apologies, _Matthew_ will be hurt my someone. Either you stop being a hitman or you leave Matthew here, alone."

Arthur's words sunk on Alfred like shards of glass. It was obvious what he was saying, but Alfred had chosen not to believe them. "I am not leaving him alone."

"Well then you know the solution."

Alfred felt angry tears run down his face. What right did he have to say any of this? He wasn't his friend or someone he even trusted. Hell, his Hit would've be the last one he would ever need to do and yet here he was giving him _advice_. "Okay I admit I tried to make it enjoyable for myself but I had to, if I didn't I would've hated it but its the only way I could keep his life support going. Everyday doctors give me letters or tell me I should consider turning them off but I can't just give up on him he never gave up on me! And you can't come into my life and tell me how to look after him, alright? I know him better than anyone. I know he likes to dump maple syrup on all his food no matter if he shouldn't. He has this thing about polar bears and he wanted to go live in Canada where he could try out for the local hockey team. He knows just about any language you could think of. And he smoked weed one time and pretended to be a statue and was locked up for a day for pissing in the park fountain. He's my brother and I am not going anywhere until he sits up and calls me an idiot." Alfred shouted through the waterfall on his face.

He breathed heavily and felt the weight removed from his chest. Still he was guilt-ridden since the day Matthew had fallen into the lake, nothing could change that. He just needed Matthew to wake up, that's all he wanted. He felt a hand pull his arm until he was standing and then warmth engulfed him. He sank into it. He didn't care if it was another man or a trained assassin or a narcissistic Englishman or all at once. It was warm and safe and loving. For one blissful moment the years of torment washed away.

"Alfred. I'll help pay the medical bills. I'll help with anything you need." Arthur sounded sincere.

Alfred trusted his words but he needed to know. "Why?"

Arthur laughed shortly. "Does there need to be a reason? You're someone who can challenge me and I want to explore that."

Alfred wanted to ask what he meant by that but was smothered as Arthur held him closer. It wasn't supposed to feel right and yet it did and Alfred found himself drowsy even though he had slept through a whole day. That year of Hit after Hit, collecting the money, visiting Matthew...all of it had drained him and only now did he see that. He didn't want to do it all alone. "If you're lying. If some day this all turns out to be lies and it hurts Matthew...I swear on our mother's grave I'll kill you."

Silence drifted between them and Alfred felt Arthur tense. But then he sighed into Alfred's hair. "I think that's a fair compromise." He thought for a moment and added: "If this is to be a permanent arrangement you should probably move in with me to lessen the rent cost."

Alfred pushed away a little to glare down at Arthur, only now realising he was slightly taller than him. "Who said anything about moving in with you? We're not a...whatever you call it." He looked away to avoid the embarrassment of the burning crimson across his face. What did happen to his charm? What on earth was in that tranquiliser? Slender fingers yanked his chin back and lips fell against his own. This was softer, considerate, and yet it caused him to want more. Arthur pulled away immediately as he felt Alfred becoming submissive, he wasn't going to let it happen that easily.

"I believe they call it a _gay couple_ , its quite natural you know. Of course, Americans are much farther behind the times than other countries so it doesn't surprise me you'd be in denial about it." Arthur replied with a smirk. Alfred had guessed the empathetic mask wouldn't last long but still he smiled. He remembered a joke Feliciano had told him once.

"Isn't denial a place in Egypt?"

Arthur's eyelid twitched. "Please tell me you're not the sort to make regular puns like that? I was with a Spaniard once who made similar _jokes_. I never heard the end of them." His expression told the horror of that past adventure. Alfred wished he could know more about this Spaniard, to know more about Arthur in general. He really knew nothing about him, not even the information the French guy had given him. He hoped Arthur never asked about who hired him, but he was bound to eventually, at least he had the excuse of his no name policy. Right now he could enjoy the security that his brother was safe.

"Why can't we move into mine?"

"Because your flat is worse than any cheap hotel room, that's why."

As they argued over housing Matthew's monitor beeped faster than usual. Just for a second and then it levelled out again. Peaceful.


	3. Echoes of Regret

**Warning the first part of this is Yaoi, although not strictly 'hardcore' as I haven't done that yet but the warning is there if you want to skip over it.**

 **I really am loving this AU and I'm glad others are as well.**

 **( /y_cSnv-yo8Y)**

 **This song was suggested by Lazy Wonderland as it really fits the relationship between Arthur and Alfred, also check out other songs by the artist as most will be mentioned in future spin-offs.**

 **With that done, on with the chapter...**

* * *

Alfred rolled over and felt for his watch on the beside table. It was still pretty early and dawn was only just peaking through the drawn curtains. He looked over to see Arthur with his mouth slightly open and snoring quietly. Sometimes he looked like a child himself even if he denied it constantly. It had been two months since the hospital visit where Arthur had agreed to help pay Matthew's medical bills and had since kept his word. He could be charming, cold, difficult, caring, playful and sometimes far too dominant than Alfred liked. Yet he cared for him all the same.

He carefully nuzzled up beside him and closed his eyes; the addictive feeling of someone being close he couldn't live without now. He could feel Arthur's shallow breathing along his arm that stretched over his bare chest, it was soothing but he was far too awake. He leaned over to Arthur's ear, cautiously trying not to wake him up. "I love you, Arthur." It was tenderly said and he did mean it, however he found he could never say it to his face. Perhaps this counted as to his face, even if he was asleep. He was about to try and sleep again when green orbs snapped open.

Shit.

"Is that so?"

 _Shit_.

Alfred buried his face in Arthur's neck to hide his embarrassment. It didn't work much as Arthur slithered until he was on top of him and holding his wrists above his head. Alfred's face burned worse as he remembered they were _very much_ naked. Arthur knew too and had an all too familiar vibrancy to his eyes. He leaned down until their noses were barely touching. The anticipation was driving Alfred crazy, he was so close but not close enough. Arthur's morning breath was somehow pleasantly smelling of tea. "Well its a good thing I love you too." He placed a meaningful kiss on Alfred's lips and then climbed off the bed. Alfred sunk his head into the pillow and willed the tightness in his lower body to go away. "I'm having a bath, care to join me?" Arthur shouted from the bathroom, although it didn't sound much like a request.

"Wouldn't a shower be quicker?"

"Who said anything about actually getting clean?"

Alfred sighed. "What if I said I'm not in the mood?"

The sound of water rushing into the bath blasted from the bathroom. He knew he would have to go join him either way and was about to stand when a hand brushed against his lower half. "And I say your body says otherwise." Arthur said huskily. Knots were already tightening in Alfred's stomach as Arthur continued the stroking motion. He reached out and grasped the teasing hand, pushing himself up to kiss Arthur hungrily. It seemed this was what he wanted as a smirk pulled beneath their entangled lips. Alfred wanted rid of it quick. This was the little battles they had and he wanted a victory this time. He yanked Arthur to the bathroom but turned the tap off and pulled Arthur under the walk-in shower. "I wanted a bath." Arthur mumbled darkly. Alfred ignored him and made sure the water was nearer to scolding than comfortable.

"Well I want a shower." He growled, and then proceeded to push Arthur under the spray of water. He wasn't far behind and found Arthur was being compliant and allowed him to pick him up, wrapping his legs around Alfred's hips. He could feel Arthur's excitement against his stomach. He bit Alfred's bottom lip and the sharp pain jolted him. Ah so this was revenge for being so forceful about the shower.

"Don't drop me." Arthur warned against Alfred's lips before crashing down on them. He didn't bother to retort as he realised how addicted he was to this, to Arthur, to the pleasure of it all. It lacked logic and morals and he was sure this was no healthy relationship to be in. Arthur was manipulative and sometimes cruel, but Alfred himself could be childish and demanding and yet they always seemed to find a level ground. _Find a compromise_. He did love him and maybe he loved him for all the wrong reasons - what did it matter if love was there anyway?

"Arthur-"

"What?" He snapped impatiently.

Alfred held his breath, taking in the alluring scene of Arthur's wet hair sticking to his face and his teeth bared a little in frustration. "I meant it, what I said before."

Arthur's eyes softened and he huffed. "Why can't you follow anything through to the end? You could have told me that after." Alfred's disheartened stare only annoyed him further. "I know you meant it, idiot. Why else would you say it?" He couldn't argue with that. Alfred chuckled, which earned him another hardened glare. He tried a different tactic and began leaving long kisses against Arthur's neck, nibbling every so often and slowly Arthur stopped resisting. He sighed in pleasure and started to tug at Alfred's hair. The water was scolding his skin but Alfred always liked it that way and it didn't matter so much as everywhere Alfred kissed him it seared like the hot ash of a cigarette. Arthur just wanted to trail his hands everywhere, to claim every inch, but he always found things more enjoyable when Alfred took over; he was getting painfully aroused just by Alfred biting his neck.

"You know in Japanese the word for idiot is 'baka'." He explained against Arthur's skin, however Arthur didn't look amused by the new fact.

"Why do I want to know that, exactly?"

"Because I want you to scream it at me in the next five minutes."

Arthur tilted his head like a cat, only exposing his neck further. "Only five minutes? We'll have to see about that."

* * *

Alfred flopped on the bed and breathed heavily. The dawn was higher on the horizon now and he was tempted to go onto the balcony, that would be the case if his legs weren't shivering. Still, it was worth it. "I told you five minutes." He shouted in between gasps as his heartbeat levelled out.

"Don't get too cocky, brat."

Alfred smiled to himself.

Life was definitely more complicated and intoxicating with Arthur around. _And yet I'm enjoying it more_. "I'm going to visit Matt today."

Arthur walked in fully dressed like a science professor (tweed jacket and all) and even his hair was standing up all over the place. "Well it is Saturday, I'm sure the nurse is expecting you anyway."

Alfred frowned. "Would you stop flirting with her by the way."

"I can't help it if she's so easily flustered, _darling_." Arthur taunted, but his smirk told the game he was playing. "Jealous are we?"

"Not in the slightest," scoffed Alfred. "And girls like that aren't your type." He turned onto his elbow and watched Arthur studying himself in a mirror to tidy mangled strands into place. The golden colour caught in the sunlight that slipped through the curtain and it seemed to shine like the sand on a beach, and his green eyes like the depths below the sea surface. Arthur was radiant to say the least. Alfred was so distracted by the paradise-like image that he barely felt the pillow slapping his face.

"For your information I like a woman the same I would a man. Secondly, stop staring like a drooling mongrel. Thirdly, get dressed before the maid comes to tidy the room." Arthur was adamant about this maid, apparently the apartment building always had maids on hand if they wanted them. Alfred had never seen this maid, but he guessed Arthur was trying to maintain a goodness between them. Perhaps they had some history he would likely never hear about. In fact, he didn't know much about Arthur even now. He could tell anyone what he liked and disliked, his appalling fashion sense when he wasn't on an assassination, the way he made his tea expertly. But he knew nothing of his past or even his family.

"Arthur?"

Arthur could see his troubled expression within the mirror. "Yes?"

"Do you...have a family?"

Arthur stiffened. "No," he answered monotonously, "no I don't."

"You must have someone. A Dad? Sister? Brother?"

 _Alfred, please leave it be_. "There isn't anyone." He could feel the rage brewing in his gut, unstoppable. Just the thought of his brother made him angry, sad but angry. The thought of his father's family that turned him away, pushed him out to be alone. He concluded long ago he had no family to call his own.

"But-"

"Leave it be." Arthur spoke coldly. He felt a tug of guilt when Alfred's face fell but what else could he say? There was no one he had in the world, no one but Alfred. "I'm going out to talk with some people and hopefully get that price off my head. I'm surprised he hasn't been in contact with you." Arthur stared intently at Alfred's reflection, seeing that the change of subject had made him defensive. That was to be expected.

"He probably drank himself to death anyway." He mumbled.

"If he did that does make things easier. I should be back in a few hours, maybe I could meet you at the hospital?"

Alfred rolled over to hide his face. "Yeah that'd be great."

Arthur closed his eyes. He could be such a child sometimes but he had to remember he was young. Opening them, he walked over to the bed and tried to caress Alfred's hair. "The only family I want is you, Alfred." He bent down and kissed his temple gently. "I'll see you at the hospital." Receiving no reply he left the room and trudged down the stairway. Alfred remained still for awhile. He couldn't ignore the thumping of his heart at Arthur's words, but he wished he was more open about his past. Someone was bound to know something about him. _Feliciano seems to know everyone, maybe I should ask him_. Going behind his back probably wasn't the best idea, but he was sure Arthur had done the same before the night they had met.

Alfred was about to get dressed when a woman slammed the door open. He froze, forgetting to cover himself as a dark-skinned girl stormed forward. She halted when she saw him, eyes briefly travelling downwards but then shot back up. She was in a plain blue dress and looked as if she belonged on a beach than in the middle of a city. She used a hand to cover her eyes and spoke angrily.

"Where's Arthur?"

"You just missed him." Alfred replied as he tied the sheet around his middle. "Do you know him?"

The girl laughed spitefully. "Of course I know him, the asshole thought he could just pay me off with fifty pounds. _Pounds_. This is America for Christ's sake! And I'm not just some cheap girl either, not that him paying me wasn't rude enough. When I get my hands on him-" Alfred sat there awkwardly as she ranted. It made him wonder how many people Arthur had had sex with over the years, actually, perhaps it was best not to think about it. "Francis always said he was trouble, a monster, but he was so charming to me when most men just throw a 'nice tits' at you. I haven't heard from Francis in ages..." Behind her hand Alfred could see tears beginning to fall. "Maybe he drank too much this time."

Alfred gawped. No way, this couldn't be the same guy. Isn't Francis a French name? Another thing, why was she spilling all of this out to a complete stranger? She looked young too, _really_ young. Her dark hair was even tied up in two bunches by red bows. "Are you going to be okay?"

She peaked through her fingers and saw he was no longer naked. Wiping her tears away she revealed two brown orbs. "You have to in this city. But you could send Arthur a message for me?" Alfred nodded. "Tell him if he even thinks about calling me _love_ again I'll shove a knife down his throat." She said evenly, smiled and then made a move to leave.

"Wait a minute. That guy you mentioned, uh Francis, what does he look like?" Alfred asked desperately. He needed to know if it was the same drunk Frenchman.

"Long blond hair, blue eyes, a little stubble around his chin and he's usually got a wine bottle in his hand." The girl shrugged her shoulders. "It's not hard to miss him."

"And you haven't heard from him in how long?"

The girl's eyebrows knitted. "About a month. Do you know him or something?"

Alfred raked a hand through his hair. It _had_ to be the same guy. He knew his name now too, so much for the no name policy. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" He cursed angrily at himself. Did Arthur even know this girl knew Francis? What was the history between the two anyway? It had to be something bad if Francis wanted Arthur dead. "Look, why does Francis hate Arthur?"

The girl looked fearful to answer but Alfred's desperate eyes she couldn't ignore. "I don't know he doesn't tell me much. But once he was so drunk I had to take him home and keep an eye on him in case he choked on his own vomit. He would say things in his sleep. All I know is that Arthur...could have caused his wife to die. But honestly that's all I know!" She looked like she was on the verge of tears. Alfred believed her but couldn't wrap his head around it. _Arthur had killed his wife? No, she said caused it. Maybe it was just an accident or-_

Oh. _Ohhh_. "Francis was the target." Alfred whispered. It made sense. At least, a man's guilt turned into alcohol, right? He looked up at the girl and was met with shock, there was no time to explain. "I'm sorry but I need you to go its urgent." He said quickly as he led her towards the front door. She protested but he kept her moving until she was firmly outside the apartment. "I'll be sure to send Arthur the message." He shut the door in her face and sprinted over to the wardrobe and threw on whatever he could find.

As soon as his foot entered the pizzeria a voice howled at him. "How many times!? Stay away from here or so help me I'll shove a dildo so far up your American ass you'll be seeing more than fifty-two stars!" Romano appeared fuming in front of him. He really didn't need this right now.

"Look I just need to ask Feliciano-"

"No you need to leave bastard or I will go leather whip on you!"

"Oh for Christ's sake-" Alfred unceremoniously picked the Italian up and balanced him on his shoulder as he stormed towards the kitchen. Feet and fists smacked his body and curses were hurled into his ear but he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the faces customers were pulling. He slammed the kitchen door open with a foot and froze. Feliciano squeaked at the loud noise but the much bigger Ludwig only glared hatefully. Dressed head to toe in his decorated police uniform, Alfred couldn't help feeling nervous. The German's eyes then noticed Lovino, who was still shouting but now in Italian, and sighed into his hand.

"Damn it, Feli. Why is your brother so hostile?" He complained.

"You'll get hostile potato-bastard!"

"Just because I'm German doesn't mean-"

"Don't think using that excuse will make up for how you destroyed Rome!"

Ludwig refused to reply and simply pleaded with Feliciano to help.

"He's not hostile. He's just...not good with people." Feliciano replied but his face fell a little at the sight of his brother writhing frantically in Alfred's grasp. The placid Italian walked forward and mouthed a small ' _sorry_ ' to Alfred. "Lovi, Alfred is my friend and I want him to be here." Lovino still struggled. "When we made this place together we promised we would put all of that behind us. _All_ of it." Alfred was taken aback by Feliciano's seriousness, even more so when the Italian stole a glance at him. It was his turn to mouth a ' _sorry_ '. Feliciano only smiled. Lovino stopped fighting and suddenly became heavier. Carefully, Alfred let him down and took a step back in case a fist was swung at him. There was no fist, and Lovino had the mist of fresh tears glaze his eyes. Wordlessly, Lovino walked out of the kitchen and grumbly greeted customers.

Alfred felt guilt pain his chest. He shouldn't have felt it, after all that night was no different from what Lovino was used to. But still, Alfred guessed Lovino wasn't prepared to see his face every week.

Feliciano tried to lighten the lowered mood and clapped loudly. "Alfred, what was it you wanted?"

Alfred looked briefly at Ludwig, he sensed the German didn't trust him much anyway so he continued. "I need information on something. A guy called Francis. He's probably had his wife accidentally dying as well." He spoke vaguely, but then again it was hard not to with a police officer's eyes trained on you like you were the devil. Feliciano looked puzzled.

"I only know one person called Francis. Francis Bonnefoy. He used to, uh, visit regularly where I used to-"

"Feli," Ludwig warned. Feliciano shot him a small nod. Ludwig slackened his tense muscles.

"I never saw him personally but the owner _always_ had to see him. From what I heard other people say that it was more like an affair. Maybe she can help you." Feliciano shrugged but it was obvious old memories were passing through his mind.

"Thanks, you don't know where I could find her do you?"

Feliciano grimaced. "I haven't seen her in years."

"That's okay, you've given me enough and I'm sorry for bringing it all back again." He said it while glancing at Ludwig, in return Ludwig nodded slowly. He walked up to Feliciano and rested his hands on the Italian's shoulders. Instantly, Feliciano leaned into the comforting touch.

"Alfred. Sometimes its best to leave things in the past." Feliciano whispered. Alfred thanked him again and decided to leave before Ludwig brought out the cuffs. He stole a glance at Lovino as he walked out but Lovino ignored him entirely. He hugged himself as a gust of wind attacked him on the street. He sighed heavily. Two months ago he was a feared hitman, now, he felt guilty just by asking about a former client. He walked slowly in the direction of the hospital and was careful of avoiding the crowds on their way to work. This owner was probably impossible to find and he really didn't want to ask the girl for more information. The only other option was Arthur himself.

Alfred apologised to a couple after walking straight into them.

Why was he even trying to find this Francis anyway? The more he knew the more trouble he was in, that was how it worked in this world of hitmen and assassins. Maybe this was all about knowing Arthur better, or maybe he just wanted to know exactly _who_ he was sharing a bed with. Why did Francis think he was a monster? Why did Arthur say Francis was a monster?

"Alfred?"

He awoke from his daze to find Matthew's nurse staring wide-eyed at him. He was stood outside the hospital building.

"It's about Matthew."

Alfred pushed past and ran into the building. He didn't need to hear her words all he needed was to see his brother. Coming to the room he looked inside and his heart skipped a beat. Matthew's eyes were still closed but Arthur was sat in his usual chair and a book in his hand. It was some philosophical book for sure and Arthur was reading it out loud. "Detachment as release from desire and consequently from suffering is an important principle, or even ideal, in the Bahá'í Faith, Buddhism, Hinduism, Jainism and Taoism."

"In Buddhist and Hindu religious texts the opposite concept is expressed as _upādāna_ , translated as "attachment". Attachment, that is the inability to practice or embrace detachment, is viewed as the main obstacle towards a serene and fulfilled life. Many other spiritual traditions identify the lack of detachment with the continuous worries and restlessness produced by desire and personal ambitions."

Alfred listened intently until Arthur looked up from the book. His smile warmed Alfred's heart. "Alfred, I wondered when you would get here."

"Sorry I took too long at the pizzeria." He muttered. "Why are you reading that philosophical bullshit out loud?"

Arthur closed it and wore a disappointed expression. "Philosophy is intriguing, and patients usually respond better when someone is talking to them more often." He looked at Alfred quizzically. "Have you seen Matthew's nurse?"

"She tried to tell me something but I just ignored it. I needed to see him."

Arthur sighed. "The doctors are considering it might be time to..." He trailed off. "Matthew hasn't showed signs of change and while I managed to convince them to give him another month-"

Alfred muffled his words out. His heart was sinking as he stared at his younger brother, his Matt. He did this to him. Matt _had_ to wake up so he could apologise. A month wasn't enough, nowhere near enough. Why could nothing go right? Why did he pressurise Matt to go onto that damn lake? He walked over and saw just how long his hair was now. His hair had always fallen in waves and Alfred had more than once said it made him look like a girl, just for Matthew to challenge him to a hockey match. That was the only time Matthew could be terrifying. Tears stung his eyes. A stuffed polar bear had been tucked under his arm. _Wake up, Mattie. Please, just open your eyes and hate me for what I did_.

"You don't understand."

Arthur stopped whatever he had been saying.

"This was _my_ fault. He kept saying how I needed to get my head down and study and be responsible. I was tired of his nagging and then we came to this lake just outside the city..." That day was the first time they had seen it that freezing before and spent most of the walk throwing snowballs at each other. Like always Matthew ended the game first and began complaining about Alfred's laid-back attitude. Then the lake appeared. Even now he could never bring himself to go near it. "He went onto that lake because of me. I am _never_ turning that switch off." He finished darkly. No matter what the doctors said, he was keeping that promise.

Arthur eyed him warily, not seeing this side of Alfred before it concerned him. "We have another month. We can discuss it with them and convince them in that time."

"That's not enough." Alfred whined.

"It's all we can do." Arthur raised his voice. "And complaining like a child won't help."

Arthur could see the true Alfred in this room. Any other place he was playful but here he was utterly vulnerable. He let his guard down, showed emotion, and part of Arthur resented it. However, looking at Alfred crying for his brother made him sympathise. He wasn't reading the book for his own health, he thought Matthew might be a person who enjoyed philosophy although that was a guess on his part. For Alfred's sake he wanted Matthew to wake up, but he wondered how he would feel about their relationship.

A sick, twisted part of his mind didn't want Matthew to wake up. He didn't want Alfred to be taken away from him, not by anyone.


	4. The Betrayal

**Sorry for the long wait for this but I promised myself I wouldn't write anything during my exams, however, I found myself writing the next chapter. It's not as long as the others but I really need to focus on revision sorry**

 **The next chapters will be up more often after around the 24th June as that's when I officially finish high school, yyaaayy.**

 **Either way, I hope you enjoy :D**

 **With that done, on with the chapter...**

* * *

The sky was growing into a warning shade of grey as the days passed. The air was also thick, preparing for the eventual evening rain. The balcony became Alfred's sanctuary as he paced; restless, crazed and generally missing a gun or knife in his hand. The cars were moving below, making noises and Alfred couldn't help but wonder if he could snipe people from this balcony. He gripped the metal bar tightly, the coldness rushing through his hand as he tried to focus. Surely this hitman business wasn't an addiction, right? He had to admit being away from that life was proving difficult. It had become a part of him: to be hired, to kill, to be paid...a never-ending cycle that had been cut when Arthur had walked into his world.

Arthur.

Even he couldn't distract Alfred long enough. True they had grown closer, in the odd way that they did, and Alfred had since learned Arthur was as much of an egoist as he was. Arthur told him stories of past assassinations, of the many men and women he had _entertained_ , and anything other than his family. Alfred snorted loudly. No, Arthur glossed over his family every time as if they were some evil monsters that were too scary to comprehend. Alfred wondered about them and how Arthur had grown to hate them so much. He didn't genuinely care, he was more curious than anything else.

His fingers danced as he tried to concentrate. He felt pursuing Francis Bonnefoy and this brothel owner might serve as a good distraction, however without much information on either it seemed a dead end venture. As strange as the girl had been Alfred wished she'd barge into the apartment again, at least she was a lead to Francis. Alfred froze as he felt a presence behind him. "What do you want?" He didn't mean for it to sound so hostile.

There was a pause before Arthur answered. "I want a lot of things too vulgar to say. However, mostly I want to know what's bothering you."

"I'm just thinking about Matthew." He lied. Arthur fell beside him and leaned onto the balcony. "I can't lose him after everything I've done to keep him alive. Especially after everything with Mom." Alfred missed her so much. She could sing beautifully, had the brightest smile, always called him her _little hero_. Her dark hair was ticklish when she gave him kisses and although she couldn't cook her chocolate cupcakes were always the best. Alfred and Matthew had been teenagers when she died and after being forced into foster homes nothing had ever felt _homely_. Arthur listened intently but an expression of pain washed over his face for the briefest second before he entwined his hand with Alfred's. The action relaxed him immediately and Alfred squeezed a little. No words needed to be said as Arthur placed a small kiss on Alfred's forehead. Suddenly the world melted away, Alfred's desire to kill disappeared and all that remained was the face of his English assassin: beautiful and elegant.

A loud banging on the door interrupted the tranquillity. Arthur sighed irritably. "Those maids have the worst bloody timing."

Alfred chuckled. "They're just doing what they're paid to do."

Reluctantly he let Alfred's hand go and went to open the door. Alfred followed, just in time to see Arthur dodge his head out of the way of a flying shoe. Bewildered but somewhat amused Alfred waited and observed the scene.

"You fucking asshole!" A woman cried as another shoe was thrown as Arthur backed away, again he managed to dodge it skilfully.

"Chelles, love-"

"Don't 'love' me. I know you've got a twink now!"

Alfred's ears perked up and was affronted by the word. His heartbeat quickened when the girl in the blue dress stormed into his view. So her name was Chelles, and she looked particularly angry. Alfred pondered if he should have mentioned her threat to Arthur. Arthur looked relatively composed, but his stiffened posture and wild eyes told even he was terrified by Chelles' ferocity. Chelles looked between the two, then around the room for more things to throw. Her eyes targeted pillows and Arthur's books. The books seemed more appropriate so she stomped forward and picked up two of them. Now Arthur opened his mouth.

"Chelles this is a misunderstanding I swear-"

"Three days Arthur Kirkland! Three. Days." She empathised as she threw the books in time to her shouts, Arthur covering his face. "Three. Days. And. All. You. Give. Me. is money!" She sighed heavily for a moment as she ran out of breath and books. Arthur, now with books littered around his feet, looked to Alfred for help.

Alfred simply shrugged. "She's your problem." Arthur glared but didn't retort as a pillow slapped him in the face, repeatedly. Alfred had to admit Chelles had some strength in those skinny arms, he grinned behind his hand at Arthur's misfortune.

"Alright, alright I get it!" Arthur shouted. Chelles paused her pillow onslaught. "I treated you wrongly and I apologise. I thought at least giving you money might make up for brushing you off so suddenly." Alfred shook his head disapprovingly. Arthur swallowed down the lies and tried to brandish a smile. "Please, forgive me? After all, it was Alfred here that stole my heart from you." Alfred guffawed as a grin crept onto Arthur's face as Chelles turned on him instead.

Immediately Alfred raised his hands. "Woah Chelles, remember we had a good talk before." Chelles stopped in her tracks and proceeded to hug herself. With the anger melted away she appeared like a scared little girl in front of the two men. Alfred feeling sympathetic, stepped forward and very carefully patted her back. "Come on, there's no nee- AH!" Alfred had the breath squeezed out of him as Chelles yanked close to him in an embrace. He attempted to continue. "I know what Arthur did was unfair on you. He's an asshole, ain't he?" Alfred smiled as Arthur rolled his eyes. "But you're stronger than this, a girl like you could wrap any man around your finger."

Chelles sniffled pathetically against his chest. "You think so?"

Alfred smiled reassuringly. "I know so."

She giggled. "Who needs a man anyway." With a dark smile on her face she began to leave, stopped, and turned back to Alfred. "You wanted to talk with Francis, right? He's back. He got in touch with me a few days ago and he's looking for you."

The room turned bitterly cold. Alfred's heartbeat quickened and his head snapped to Arthur. His eyes were dark but also partially...scared? "Where does he want to meet me?" Alfred croaked past the lump in his throat. Francis clearly knew that the job wouldn't ever be completed, Alfred hoped he wasn't the sort of guy to hire someone else to kill _him_ instead. If he wanted to talk, face to face, it had to be important.

"Francis said it was up to you. He said it was time for you to know the truth...whatever that means." She waved at Arthur. "Bye bye now." And she let without another word.

"He can't be _serious_." Arthur whispered frantically but then his demeanour changed and he chuckled, a chuckle on the brink of insanity. "Of course...one last stab in my back, how could he resist?" He dragged a shaky hand through his hair, all the while Alfred looked confused. "That bastard!" He screeched, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the hand in his hair clawed at the poor blond strands. Finally, his frantic eyes rested on Alfred and waves of fear ran through him. He stormed forward and caressed Alfred's face with his hands, desperate to make Alfred need that touch. "Alfred listen to me. I swear I didn't think he would do this, I thought to save his pride he would never speak of it. If I'd known maybe I wouldn't have let this, us, get this far."

"Alfred, I do love you. Your mother, she hired me to kill Francis all those years ago. She wanted him dead because he-"

Alfred ripped Arthur's hands away. "My mom...hired _you_? You knew her? You knew her but you said nothing?" He felt the world sink around him, felt pain rise in his gut worse than any knife wound. His beautiful assassin. Those bright green orbs were devilish and had lied from day one. He took a stumbling step back, trying to form more questions but his mind couldn't. The pain was blocking his thoughts. He just had to get away from those eyes.

He brushed past and headed for the front door but a firm hand snaked around his wrist. "Alfred listen to me-"

"Let me go!"

The grip weakened a little but disobeyed the command. "I did know who you were that night you came to kill me. But understand that I love you for you, not what happened in the past...not what your mother asked me to do."

He clenched his teeth as betrayal dug its claws into his chest, making it expand to the point of exploding. "Just...let go of me." He whispered.

The hand released him instantly and Alfred slammed the door shut behind him. Not daring to look back at the broken face of his English assassin.

* * *

Alfred ran. He didn't know what else to do so he ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Rain slapped his face and soon enough he was drenched through as he caught his breath beneath a glowing streetlight. He didn't even realise he was sobbing. _All this time he was lying_. He wanted to scream, to curse, to cry. _I said if he lied I'd kill him_. The idea didn't make him feel better, in fact he felt worse. Arthur had changed him. How could he be a hitman now? How could he kill? He was an ordinary man without any future to look forward to. His mother had made sure of that. She had done this to them. She had hired Arthur to kill Francis over an affair and had abandoned them. He felt so numb. Alone and numb and tired of running.

"Damn it, American!"

Alfred strained his head up to see Lovino glaring at him. However, the Italian's face softened a tad at Alfred's drenched appearance. He realised now, he had ran all the way to the pizzeria, the only place that had never lied to him, where at least he had one friend. And yet the man that hated him the most stared down on him. Alfred straightened himself up but allowed his tears to fall, what was the use in stopping them? He lingered over Lovino's face, remembering a similar night with similar emotions running through his body. He had wanted to run even back then.

"It's all my fault. It's _always_ my fault." He had been so stupid to believe in Arthur. He was an assassin, knew how to get to people and yet Alfred had fallen for it all the same. He was Arthur's _challenge_. Well he wasn't much of a challenge now. "Matt wouldn't be in this coma if it wasn't for me!" He slammed his fist against the lamppost and swallowed down the pain. His sobs continued as Lovino stood there awkwardly. The Italian had seen this all before, men crying out of guilt for one reason or another and needing some sort of release. Lovino sighed. This American just didn't know when to stop.

"Hey stop that now. You never meant for it to happen." Lovino said roughly. Comfort wasn't exactly his strong point. It didn't seem to help Alfred at all so instead Lovino cursed and grabbed him by the arm. Dragging him inside the closed pizzeria, the place was ghostly without shouting and chattering customers, the lack of light made it feel less homely and inviting. Lovino lead him into the kitchen and sat him down on one of the counters. "Stay here." He left for a few moments and returned with a box of tissues and a bottle of wine. Alfred looked confused by the bottle. Lovino shrugged. "The only remedy I know to self-hate."

Lovino jumped up onto the counter and poured two glasses and handed one to Alfred. He took it gingerly, he wasn't exactly old enough to drink but then again he wasn't old enough to kill people either. He gulped half of it down and instantly regretted it, the wine was too bitter and stung his throat. Lovino sipped his and looked disgruntled at Alfred's way of drinking it.

"Is that how Americans drink? What about savouring it?"

Alfred didn't reply and proceeded to drain the glass. He still felt numb and cold.

"You know why I don't like you. But even I don't like the sight of someone crying in the middle of the street." Lovino spoke slowly, swirling the wine glass in small circles. "A year later you're still just a broken little boy, right?" Alfred merely motioned his glass for another refill, Lovino glared but poured it all the same. "Everyone has a hard life now and again. But you can't keep blaming yourself for something like that. So what if you pressured him into going out on the lake? So what? You saved him didn't you? And you've kept him alive this long. Not many people would do that for their brother." Lovino took another sip.

"Would you?" Alfred croaked.

Lovino stared down at his wineglass. He shrugged nonchalantly. "Feliciano's got Ludwig fighting his battles now. And even if he is a potato-bastard I know he'd protect Feli no matter what." The kitchen grew silent. Lovino chuckled just to fill it. "Who do I have. After all those years I've never felt close to anyone, not even Feli not really. When Grandpa died we were on our own but I...I pushed Feli away." Lovino placed the wineglass down carefully and wrapped his arms around himself. Alfred saw through blurry eyes that his hair was damp from the rain, droplets dripping from the brown strands. His eyes were also darker than Feliciano's. Feliciano was always bright and smiling, but Lovino could only attack and hide away.

"Lovi..."

"Don't call me that!" Lovino snapped, trying to move his body away. Alfred dropped the wineglass and it shattered on the ground. He didn't care and tried to yank Lovino to face him. "Get off me, American!" Alfred managed to pull him around to stare into those dark brown eyes. They weren't green and dead, they were brown and alive and they _cared_. Their eyes met for a long time, perhaps too long. Lovino suddenly lurched forward and stole Alfred's lips with his own. It was needy, but somehow sweet. Alfred couldn't think straight and couldn't comprehend why he was doing this. _Maybe I need to just feel something_. Lovino's thoughts echoed with his own as the Italian nudged into his lap. Lovino ripped away for a second but rested his head against Alfred's. His delicate hands crafted over Alfred's face, feeling the smoothness and the wetness from the rain and his tears.

He told himself this was just another one time thing, it always was but he didn't care. He needed someone close.

"Lovi," Alfred said again. Lovino squeezed his eyes shut. No it didn't sound right. He kissed the American again, and again. It could have been more lust than actual emotion but Lovino still felt it tighten his chest. He unbuttoned Alfred's shirt with ease and slowly went over the steps in his head. It was like riding a bicycle. Soon enough they were lying on top of fallen clothing and moving at an even pace. For once Lovino was glad they had an abundance of olive oil. A familiar sharpness clouded his eyes and Alfred fell on top of him, breathing heavily.

And then the feeling was gone. He wasn't needed anymore and he knew what happened next. Lovino waited for Alfred to move but instead the American rolled off and held Lovino's waist. The Italian's heartbeat jumped. Alfred pulled him closer and kissed his sweat-dripped forehead. Lovino was just too bewildered to move.

"Thank you, Lovino." Alfred breathed before he fell asleep.

Lovino lay still for a while. It was obvious Alfred would be guilt-ridden in the morning and sneak away. It was obvious he would hate the American even more and throw more insults at him every Saturday. It was obvious Lovino loathed Alfred. At least, that's what he told himself. He rested his head against Alfred's chest and breathed out. He wished this comfort would last longer than one night.


End file.
